Resolution
by Anna Queen
Summary: Ficlet set some way post-BoTN, after Buffy has found/rescued Spike. It's New Year's Eve, but if Buffy wants to keep her resolutions, maybe she's chosen the wrong person to spend it with...


Resolution

Resolve face.

Maybe that's what she's missing.

Maybe if she has the right face she can make it right. Because it's not right at the moment. It's a silly list, a little-girl-list that has her name written at the top like it's something she's writing for a school project. 

Buffy Summers. New Year's Resolutions 2003.

Kill First Evil Find out how to kill First Evil/get Giles to find out how to kill First Evil (or Willow/Xander/Dawn/Anya) Are you allowed to kill First Evils? – check. Find my brown suede boots (Dawn??) Turn up for work on time. Unless having lie-in after busy night. Slaying. Get drivers license. 

She's not even sure she's got the order right. And now she thinks about it there's something very wrong with the way she's phrased resolution number two. Maybe the Willow/Xander/Dawn/Anya hybrid should have come earlier in the sentence.

That's it, rewrite sentence two. Try not to think about the world ending. Try not to think about the Other Resolution. The one she still doesn't have worked out. The one that's missing.

The knock at the door interrupts her thoughts.

"Buffster? You ready?"

She looks up at Xander, resolve face firmly in place. 

"I'm gonna stay here. Keep an eye on…things."

He opens his mouth to argue, clashes briefly with resolve face, shuts it again.

"And Dawnie, you are not going anywhere without a jacket. I mean it."

Dawn pouts a little at her sister. "Are you gonna be OK here?"

"I'll be fine. Besides, if anything happens, I have Spike here."

Xander looks like he might say something else, but thinks better of it. "Well, happy New Year, Buff."

"You too. Have a good one."

She follows them downstairs, sees them out the door, watches as they disappear, laughing, into the distance. And then she turns back, takes a deep breath. She has a few things to get ready.

He's lying face down on the bed as she makes her way carefully, arms full, down the stairs to the basement. Doesn't notice her at first. He should be chained up, that's what he said, but she won't do it, not while he's still hurt. No reason for him to be in the basement at all really, but he insists. It's stupid, but it's a compromise.

He looks up, rolls over, pulls himself upright to face her.

"You should go."

"Thanks." It's supposed to be sarcastic, but it's New Year, and she's all out of sarcasm.

"You don't want to spend your New Year holed up here with me."

"That's my basement you're calling a hole, mister." She smiles at him as she hands him the glass. "Here."

He takes it with the faintest trace of a smile.

"You don't have to heat it up every time."

"It's better that way, right?"

"Yes, but – "

"Then that's what I'm gonna keep on doing, if it's all right with you."

She's got it down to a fine art now. Forty-five seconds in the microwave, two minutes to cool. She hasn't forgotten Willow and Dawn's reaction, that first night when she left the saucepan standing on the side, sticky with leftover blood.

"Oh, I…I have something for you." She hands him a foil-wrapped package. "It was going to be burba weed but the Magic Shop's all closed for the holidays."

He looks up in surprise as he opens the packet. "How did you know?"

"The sign said 'Closed for the Holidays'. It was kind of a giveaway."

"No, I mean how did you know? How did you know I liked this? "

"Oh, Giles mentioned it, ages ago."

He crumbles it into the glass, takes a long sip, blue eyes flooding her face with gratitude.

"Thank you. For this." He lifts the glass to her, an almost sincere gallantry in the gesture. "I know it isn't easy. It's not everybody could go into a store and ask for…weetabix"

She grins.

"Hey, it's New Year. There's people out there drinking stranger things than…did you say weetabix?"

She catches his eye as she says it. And for a moment –

No. Resolve face.

1998. The year she left. Walked out because she couldn't do it any more. Maybe she could save the world, but she couldn't live in the world she'd saved. Swore she wouldn't get hurt again. Not like that.

She was so young. If only she'd known. Known how much hurt was left inside her, known how much she'd need it. 

She'd thought Angel was the end of everything. And in the end he was just the beginning.

"Come on then, let's get it over with."

It's become a ritual, almost, this twice-daily event that they've both had to get used to. It's easier to make it a routine, pretend that it's safe. He unbuttons his shirt, fumbling a bit as he fights his own bruised fingers; she unscrews the lid with mechanical efficiency, dips her hand into the mixture with a steadiness that betrays nothing.

Oh his skin, his beautiful, broken skin. So firm under her fingers, so strong, so torn. 

Resolve face. 

"Tell me if I hurt you."

"You did already."

She catches her breath, because that stings. "I know."

"Sometimes it was you."

The First, he's talking about the First. For a moment she thought he meant –

"Do you know what Red puts into this?" 

She smiles, grateful for the change of subject. "I don't ask. It's good stuff, I promise. All very ancient remedy."

"Well look, Slayer, if you find eyeball of toad in that mixture you can just put that lid right back on, do you understand?"

"Believe me, the moment I come across eyeball, toad or otherwise, you're doing your own rubbing."

Why is she still doing it for him, anyway? It's not like it was in the beginning, when his fingers were so broken she had to do everything for him. 

Maybe she needs to do this for _her_. Needs to know that she's still holding onto him, still keeping sight of that soul.

1999. The year Angel left. When he came back, in spite of everything, she thought maybe it was meant to be. She should have known. She couldn't meet the price on his soul, his precious soul that he threw away for her. Once. Never again. He made sure of that when he left.

But the price on this soul is already paid. And she's not in danger because he might lose his soul. She's in danger because he might not.

She's in danger because it might be real and it might be forever. And it's a long time, a long, long time to hold onto a resolution.

Can't think about it now. She reaches for the bottle she brought down here, pours herself a drink. 

"Hello? What's this with the twenty per cent here, Slayer?"

He holds out his hand and she passes him the bottle. She watches his face as he reads the label, eyebrow twisted in mock severity. "Twenty-_five_ per cent? What's the occasion?"

"Now hang on. I think you're jumping to conclusions here. This is strictly for medicinal purposes." She throws him a look that dares him to contradict.

"Oh, I get it, you get yourself merrily drunk there and this aids my recovery _how_?"

"Excuse me, vampire, you have blood there, all ninety-eight-point-six degrees of it, so don't you start complaining." 

"And weetabix. Don't forget the weetabix."

"How could I forget the weetabix? I was the one that had to go and _buy_ the weetabix."

She's feeling strangely light headed, which is silly, because she hasn't even started her drink yet. 

"Besides, nobody's getting drunk here, I am just celebrating the New Year in…in… "

"Oblivion?"

"Style, was the word I was looking for." She knows he was joking, but it's all too real, and suddenly it all comes out in a great rush "Spike, I've tasted oblivion, and it's – " She's about to say, 'not all it's cracked up to be', but she stops herself, because that would mean - "Look, what we did, it was wrong, it was the wrong answer, but it was – it was - maybe it was the right question."

She doesn't even know what she's talking about. If only she could find the right words.

2000. The year Riley left. Right before Christmas, her great, brave hero walked away because he didn't believe in her. Wouldn't believe that she loved him, couldn't believe he would ever be enough for her. And in her heart she knew she couldn't stop him. Because he was right.

I wanted to give you what you deserve. And I got it. 

He was a vampire, no soul, no damn soul and he knew he wasn't enough for her. Why didn't he just walk away, give up like everyone else?

She looks across at him as she reaches for her glass. 

"OK, so, here we are, one more year done and dusted. Worst moment of 2002?"

"You don't want to do that."

Of course she doesn't. Why did she say it? They both know what the worst moment was, and she doesn't want to go back there any more than he does. 

"Why not?" She asks the question as lightly as she can, searching in her spinning head for a way out of this.

"You won't like it."

"Try me." 

He arches an eyebrow, bites his lip wickedly. "I might have to, if you finish that off." He grins. "The drink, love, I was talking about the drink."

She looks down, her eyes filling with mock horror as she realises her mistake. He laughs at her as she hands him back his glass. 

"But hey, you're welcome to it, just don't come crying to me when I get hungry and break into a vein."

She laughs at that, and he continues. 

"You want the worst moment? Yours or mine?"

"Are they different?" She says it very quietly.

"The one I'm thinking of wasn't so bad for me. Not at the time, it wasn't. Might just be an all-time low for you though." 

"Go on." Her heart's pounding, but she started this. She has to see it through now.

"Ok, how's the ex walking in and discovering you and me – well, I'm guessing you remember what he saw." 

He's either hurt or embarrassed, maybe both. But she answers in the spirit she knows he was aiming for.

"Who? Oh, Riley. No, that wasn't half as bad as discovering the uniform."

"Yeah, it was bloody frightening, wasn't it? Captain Cardboard in ninja gear. Thank God the First never tried _that_ one on for size." 

"I was kind of meaning the hat. My hat. The cow, you remember the cow?"

"Always." She wasn't counting on that. "I liked the cow. You did something for it, you know."

She's about to make a clever reply, but something stops her, and instead she smiles across at him, mouths the words, silently. "Thank you."

2001. The year Mom left. Maybe that's what she's afraid of most of all. Sometimes it seems like she has to fight to hold onto everything that she loves, and sometimes even that isn't enough. And she's frightened, so frightened of watching what she has slip away from her and not being able to do anything about it.

Resolve face. She can't do this now. It's New Year's Eve, after all.

"Ok, we have like three minutes left of this year so we'd better hurry up with the whole highlights thing here. Best bit?"

It's a knife-edge conversation. He shifts a little, uncomfortably.

"You don't get to ask that."

But she's not going to let him off, not this time.

"I'll tell you mine if you tell me yours."

"Go on then." He doesn't look at her as he says it, but she catches the curiosity in his voice.

"I'm wearing mine."

He looks at her in surprise. "It's pretty. I'll give you that. Red's your colour."

"Thank you." She smiles. "Isn't it? But I wasn't meaning the shirt. I meant these." She indicates the halo of dark blue still circling her eye, the graze on her cheek.

"He really got to you, didn't he?"

"I got thrashed, Spike. And every time that happens, every time it looks like it might all be over I remember what it is that keeps me here. I remember everything that keeps me believing." 

He's listening, hard, so she continues.

"You know, somebody told me once that the only reason I'm here is because there are people out there that give me a reason to go on cheating death. I don't know if I ever stopped to tell him this, but he was pretty much right. That's what it is, what keeps me alive. Everyone that believes in me and gives me something to believe in." 

He doesn't say anything.

"So come on, your turn." She leans towards him, lowers her voice. "Oh, I should warn you. If 'I believe in you Spike' is not right up there at the top of your list I am so gonna - "

She's gotten very close to him, all of a sudden. She didn't realise quite how close she was. She'd forgotten how close you could get to someone, and still be the only one breathing the air in front of her face.

"Gonna what?" 

2002. The year Spike left. The year Spike left and came back with a soul. For her. But he changed for her, moved on for her, and she can't risk it. Not this time. She has to be strong, she has to make this one resolution because she just can't afford this. The world is too fragile right now. 

_Why does a man do what he mustn't? For her, to be hers. To be the kind of man…_

Up above them the world is ringing with laughter, the sky erupting in a blaze of screeching, soaring colour. Next door the party spills out onto the street, excited voices counting down to midnight.

Ten, nine, eight

There are bells pealing in her head already, so loud they must rock the very rafters of heaven.

Six, five, four

Resolve face.

Three…

Resolve face.

Two…

Oh god, resolve face. 

One…

2003. The year she broke one resolution before she'd even got as far as writing it down.

* * * * * 

"Remember me."

"Why should you say that? As if I were not in danger of forgetting everything else."

George Eliot Middlemarch 

A/N: I've been longing to do this, write something just a little bit lighter for this, my fourth part to 'My Treasure', 'Someday I'll tell you' and 'Still the Night'. I had fun writing it, I hope you enjoyed it.

Happy New Year!


End file.
